It Ends With Us

  He begins to shake his head in confusion. I can see the betrayal all over his face when he barely forces out my name. "Lily?"

  I stand frozen, one hand on my stomach in protection, the other hand still flat against my chest. I'm too scared to move or say anything. I don't want to react until I know exactly how he's going to react.

  When he sees the fear in my eyes and the small gasps of breath I'm barely inhaling, he holds up a reassuring palm.

  "I'm not going to hurt you, Lily. I'm just here to talk to you." He swings the door open wider and points into the living room. "Look." He steps aside and my eyes fall to someone standing behind him.

  Now I'm the one who feels betrayed.

  "Marshall?"

  Marshall immediately holds up his hands in defense. "I had no idea he was coming home early, Lily. Ryle texted and asked for my help. He specifically told me not to say anything to you or Issa. Please don't let her divorce me, I'm simply an innocent bystander."

  I shake my head, trying to understand what I'm seeing.

  "I asked him to meet me here so you'd feel more comfortable talking to me," Ryle says. "He's here for you, he's not here for me."

  I glance back at Marshall and he nods. It gives me enough reassurance to enter the apartment. Ryle is still somewhat in shock, which is understandable. His eyes keep meeting my stomach and then flicking away like it hurts to look at me. He runs two hands through his hair and then points down the hallway while looking at Marshall.

  "We'll be in the bedroom. If you hear me get . . . if I start to yell . . ."

  Marshall knows what Ryle is asking him. "I'm not going anywhere."

  As I follow Ryle into my bedroom, I wonder what that must be like. To have no idea what might set you off or how bad your reaction will be. To have absolutely no control over your own emotions.

  For a brief moment, I feel a minuscule amount of sorrow for him. But when my eyes fall to our bed and I remember that night, my sorrow diminishes completely.

  Ryle pushes the door shut, but doesn't close it all the way. He looks like he's aged an entire year in the two months it's been since I've seen him. The bags under his eyes, the furrowed brow, the sunken posture. If regret took human form, it would look identical to Ryle.

  His eyes fall to my stomach again and he takes a slow step forward. Then another. He's cautious, as he should be. He reaches out a timid hand, asking for permission to touch me. I nod softly.

  He takes one more step forward and then places a steady palm against my stomach.

  I can feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, and my eyes snap shut. Despite the resentment I've built up in my heart toward him, it doesn't mean the emotions aren't still there. Just because someone hurts you doesn't mean you can simply stop loving them. It's not a person's actions that hurt the most. It's the love. If there was no love attached to the action, the pain would be a little easier to bear.

  He moves his hand over my stomach and I open my eyes again. He's shaking his head, like he can't process what's happening right now. I watch as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of me.

  His arms snake around my waist and he presses his lips against my stomach. He clasps his hands around my lower back and presses his forehead against me.

  It's hard to describe what I feel for him in this moment. Like any mother would want for her child, it's a beautiful thing to see the love he already has. It's been hard not sharing this with anyone. It's hard not being able to share this with him, no matter how much resentment I hold toward him. My hands go to his hair while he holds me against him. Part of me wants to scream at him and call the police like I should have done that night. Part of me feels for that little boy who held his brother in his arms and watched him die. Part of me wishes I would have never met him. Part of me wishes I could forgive him.

  He unwraps his arms from around my waist and presses a hand into the mattress next to us. He pulls himself up and then sits on the bed. His elbows rest on his knees and his hands are drawn up to his mouth.

  I sit next to him, knowing we have to have this conversation, but not wanting to. "Naked truths?"

  He nods.

  I don't know which one of us is supposed to go first. I don't really have much to say to him at this point, so I wait for him to speak first.

  "I don't even know where to start, Lily." He rubs his hands down his face.

  "How about you start with, 'I'm sorry I attacked you.' "

  His eyes meet mine, wide with certainty. "Lily, you have no idea. I am so sorry. You have no idea what I've been through these past two months knowing what I've done to you."

  I clench my teeth together. I can feel my fingers as they fist around the blanket beside me.

  I have no idea what he's been through?

  I shake my head, slowly. "You have no idea, Ryle."

  I stand up, the anger and hatred spilling out of me. I spin, pointing at him. "You have no idea! You have no idea what it's like to go through what you've put me through! To fear for your life at the hands of the man you love? To get physically sick just thinking about what he's done to you? You have no idea, Ryle! None! Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me!"

  I suck in a huge breath, shocked at myself. The anger just came like a wave. I swipe at my tears and spin around, unable to look at him.

  "Lily," he says. "I don't . . ."

  "No!" I yell, spinning around again. "I am not finished! You don't get to say your truth until I've said mine!"

  He's grabbing at his jaw, squeezing the stress out of it. He drops his eyes to the floor, unable to look at the rage in mine. I take three steps toward him and drop to my knees. I place my hands on his legs, forcing him to look me straight in the eyes while I speak to him.

  "Yes. I kept the magnet Atlas gave me when we were kids. Yes. I kept the journals. No, I didn't tell you about my tattoo. Yes, I probably should have. And yes, I still love him. And I'll love him until I die, because he was a huge part of my life. And yes, I'm sure that hurts you. But none of that gave you the right to do what you did to me. Even if you would have walked into my bedroom and caught us in bed together, you still would not have the right to lay a hand on me, you goddamn son of a bitch!"

  I push off his knees and stand up again. "Now it's your turn!" I yell.

  I continue pacing the room. My heart is pounding like it wants out. I wish I could give it a way out. I'd set the mother-fucker free right now if I could.

  Several minutes pass as I continue to pace. Ryle's silence and my anger eventually just fold together into pain.

  My tears have exhausted me. I am so tired of feeling. I fall desperately onto my bed and cry into my pillow. I press my face so hard against my pillow, I can barely breathe.

  I feel Ryle lie down next to me. He places a gentle hand on the back of my head, attempting to sooth away the pain he's causing me. My eyes are closed, still pressed into the pillow, but I feel him gently rest his head against mine.

  "My truth is that I have absolutely nothing to say," he says quietly. "I'll never be able to take back what I did to you. And you'll never believe me if I promise it won't happen again." He presses a kiss against my head. "You are my world, Lily. My world. When I woke up on this bed that night and you were gone, I knew I would never get you back. I came here to tell you how incredibly sorry I am. I came to tell you I was taking that job offer in Minnesota. I came to tell you goodbye. But Lily . . ." His lips press against my head again and he exhales sharply. "Lily, I can't do that now. You have a part of me inside of you. And I already love this baby more than I've ever loved anything in my whole life." His voice cracks and he grips me even harder. "Please don't take this away from me, Lily. Please."

  The pain in his voice ripples through me, and when I lift my tear-soaked face to look at him, he presses his lips desperately to mine and then pulls back. "Please, Lily. I love you. Help me."

  His lips briefly meet mine again. When I don't push him away, his mouth comes back a third time.

  A fourth.
br />   When his lips meet mine the fifth time, they don't leave.

  He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him. My body is tired and weak, but it remembers him. My body remembers how his body can soothe everything I'm feeling. How his has a gentleness in it that my body has been craving for two months now.

  "I love you," he whispers against my mouth. His tongue sweeps softly against mine and it's so wrong and so good and so painful. Before I know it, I'm on my back and he's crawling on top of me. His touch is everything I need and everything I shouldn't.

  His hand wraps in my hair and in an instant, I'm transferred back to that night.

  I'm in the kitchen, and his hand is tugging my hair so hard it hurts.

  He brushes the hair from my face and in an instant, I'm transferred back to that night.

  I'm standing in the doorway, and his hand is trailing across my shoulder, right before he bites into me with all the strength in his jaw.

  His forehead rests gently against mine and in an instant, I'm transferred back to that night.

  I'm on this same bed beneath him when he slams his head against mine so hard I have to get six stitches.

  My body becomes unresponsive to his. The anger begins to roll back over me. His mouth stops moving against mine when he feels me freeze.

  When he pulls back and looks down on me, I don't even have to say anything. Our eyes, locked together, speak more naked truths than our mouths ever have. My eyes are telling his that I can no longer stand being touched by him. His eyes are telling mine that he already knows.

  He begins to nod, slowly.

  He backs away from me, crawling down my body until he's at the edge of the bed with his back to me. He's still nodding as he comes to a slow stand, fully aware that he's not getting my forgiveness tonight. He begins heading toward my bedroom door.

  "Wait," I say to him.

  He half-turns, looking back at me from the doorway.

  I lift my chin, looking at him with finality. "I wish this baby wasn't yours, Ryle. With everything that I am, I wish this baby was not a part of you."

  If I thought his world couldn't crumble more, I was wrong.

  He walks out of my bedroom and I press my face into my pillow. I thought if I could just hurt him like he had hurt me, I would feel avenged.

  I don't.

  Instead, I feel vindictive and mean.

  I feel like I'm my father.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mom: I miss you. When am I going to see you?

  I stare at the text. It's been two days since Ryle found out I'm pregnant. I know it's time to tell my mother. I'm not nervous about telling her I'm pregnant. The only thing that scares me is discussing my situation with Ryle with her.

  Me: Miss you, too. I'll come over tomorrow afternoon. Can you make lasagna?

  As soon as I close out the text to her, I get another incoming text.

  Allysa: Come upstairs and eat dinner with us tonight. It's homemade pizza night.

  I haven't been to Allysa's in a few days. Since before Ryle came home. I'm not sure where he's staying, but I assume it's with them. The last thing I want right now is to have to be in the same apartment as him.

  Me: Who all will be there?

  Allysa: Lily . . . I wouldn't do that to you. He's working until 8 tomorrow morning. It'll just be the three of us.

  She knows me way too well. I text her back and tell her I'll come over as soon as I finish up with work.

  *

  "What do babies eat at this age?"

  We're all seated around the table. Rylee was asleep when I got here, but I woke her up so I could hold her. Allysa didn't mind; she said she doesn't want her wide awake when she's ready to go to bed.

  "Breast milk," Marshall says with a mouthful. "But sometimes I stick my finger in my soda and put it in her mouth so she can taste it."

  "Marshall!" Allysa yells. "You better be kidding."

  "Totally kidding," he says, although I can't tell if he really is.

  "But when do they start eating baby food?" I ask. I figure I need to learn this stuff before giving birth.

  "Around four months," Allysa says with a yawn. She drops her fork and leans back in her chair, rubbing her eyes.

  "You want me to keep her at my place tonight so you guys can get a full night of sleep?"

  Allysa says, "No, it's fine," at the same time Marshall says, "That would be awesome."

  I laugh. "Really. I live right downstairs. I don't work tomorrow so if I don't get any sleep tonight I can just sleep in tomorrow."

  Allysa looks like she's contemplating it for a moment. "I could leave my cell phone on in case you need me."

  I look back down at Rylee and grin. "Did you hear that? You get to have a sleepover with Aunt Lily!"

  *

  With everything Allysa is throwing in her diaper bag, it looks like I'm about to take Rylee on a trip across the country. "She'll let you know when she's hungry. Don't use the microwave to heat the milk, just put it in . . ."

  "I know," I interrupt. "I've made her like fifty bottles since she's been alive."

  Allysa nods and then walks over to her bed. She drops the diaper bag down beside me. Marshall is in the living room feeding Rylee one last time, so Allysa lies down beside me on the bed while we wait. She props her head up on her hand.

  "Do you know what this means?" she asks.

  "No. What?"

  "I get to have sex tonight. It's been four months."

  I crinkle up my nose. "I didn't need to know that."

  She laughs and falls down on her pillow, but then sits straight up. "Shit," she says. "I should probably shave my legs. I think it's been four months since I did that, too."

  I laugh, but then I gasp. My hands move quickly to my stomach. "Oh my God! I just felt something!"

  "Really?" Allysa puts her hand on my stomach and we're both quiet for the next five minutes as we wait for it to happen again. It does, but it's so soft, it's almost unnoticeable. I laugh again as soon as it happens.

  "I didn't feel anything," Allysa says, pouting. "I guess it'll be a few more weeks before you can feel it from the outside, though. Is this the first time you felt it move?"

  "Yeah. I've been scared I was growing the laziest baby in history." I keep my hands on my stomach, hoping to feel it again. We sit quietly for a few more minutes, and I can't help but wish my circumstances were different. Ryle should be here. He should be the one sitting beside me with his hand on my stomach. Not Allysa.

  The thought almost takes away all the joy I'm feeling. Allysa must notice because she puts one of her hands on mine and squeezes. When I look at her, she isn't smiling anymore.

  "Lily," she says. "I've been wanting to say something to you."

  Oh, God. I don't like the sound of her voice.

  "What is it?"

  She sighs and then forces a gloomy smile. "I know you're sad that you're going through this without my brother. No matter how involved he is, I just want you to know that this is going to be the best thing you've ever experienced in your life. You're gonna be a great mom, Lily. This baby is really lucky."

  I'm glad Allysa is the only one in here right now, because her words make me laugh, cry, and snot like a hormonal teenager. I hug her and tell her thank you. It's amazing how hearing those words gives me back the joy I was feeling.

  She smiles and then says, "Now go get my baby and take her away from here so I can have some sex with my filthy rich husband."

  I roll off the bed and stand up. "You sure know how to bring levity into a situation. I'd say it's your strong point."

  She smiles. "That's what I'm here for. Now go away."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Of all the secrets I've held over the last few months, I'm the saddest about keeping everything from my mother. I don't know how she'll take it. I know she'll be excited about the pregnancy, but I don't know how she'll feel about me and Ryle splitting up. She loves Ryle. And based on her history with these types of situations, she'll
probably find it very easy to excuse his behavior and try and convince me to take him back. And in all honesty, that's part of the reason I've been stalling this, because I'm scared there's a chance she might be successful.

  Most days I'm strong. Most days I'm so mad at him that the thought of ever forgiving him is ludicrous. But some days I miss him so much I can't breathe. I miss the fun I had with him. I miss making love to him. I miss missing him. He used to work so many hours that when he would walk in the front door at night I would rush across the room and jump in his arms because I missed him so much. I even miss how much he loved it when I would do that.

  It's the not-so-strong days when I wish my mother knew about everything that was going on. I sometimes just want to drive over to her house and curl up on the couch with her while she tucks my hair behind my ear and tells me it'll all be okay. Sometimes even grown women need their mother's comfort so we can just take a break from having to be strong all the time.

  I sit in my car, parked in her driveway, for a good five minutes before I work up the strength to go inside. It sucks that I have to do this because I know that in a way, I'll be breaking her heart, too. I hate it when she's sad and telling her I married a man who might be like my father is going to make her really sad.

  When I walk through the front door, she's in the kitchen layering noodles in a pan. I don't remove my coat right away for obvious reasons. I'm not wearing a maternity shirt but my bump is almost impossible to hide without a jacket. Especially from a mother.

  "Hey, sweetie!" she says.

  I walk into the kitchen and give her a side hug while she layers cheese over the top of the lasagna. Once the lasagna is in the oven, we walk over to the dining room table and take a seat. She leans back in her chair and takes a sip from a glass of tea.

  She's smiling. I hate it even more that she looks so happy right now.

  "Lily," she says. "There's something I need to tell you."

  I don't like this. I was coming over here to talk to her. I'm not prepared to receive a talk.

  "What is it?" I ask hesitantly.

  She grips her glass of tea with both hands. "I'm seeing someone."

  My mouth drops open.

  "Really?" I ask, shaking my head. "That's . . ." I'm about to say good, but then I grow instantly worried that she's just put herself in a similar situation she was in with my father. She can see the worry on my face, so she grabs my hands in both of hers.